


Angel of Kindness, Do You Know Revenge?

by fid_gin, unfolded73



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fid_gin/pseuds/fid_gin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor and the Master finally meet again, who is really in control?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel of Kindness, Do You Know Revenge?

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by jfiliberti. Originally published 20 December 2009. This was literally written based on teasers and trailers of "The End of Time" before we knew what it was about. We just knew John Simm was in a leather collar, and that inspired this bit of wrongness. Warnings: Violence, Dubcon, Dom/sub

Resurrection hadn't done much for his disposition. "Don't you have better things to do with your final days than chase me across the universe? I knew you were lonely, but this is just _pathetic_."

The Doctor didn't bite. "You're dead. I cremated your body myself."

The Master smiled at that, looking handsomely boyish under that floppy white-blonde hair and in that ridiculous dog collar. "Ta for that, but it looks like you didn't do a very good job." He held his hands out in front of his face, wiggling his fingers, and the Doctor could see flashes of his toothy grin through the gaps.

Striding near the other man, the Doctor thrust his face close to the Master's, studying him. "You're a genetic construct," he said finally. "That's what this is." He reached up and poked the edge of the thick, red collar. "Somebody owns you, or thinks they do anyway. Who's done this?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Stop it," the Doctor spat, circling the other man slowly. "Not alive again for more than a matter of hours before you have to start destroying, start _killing_."

"Well, you're the expert," the Master said. He turned to go, as if the Doctor was actually going to let him leave the room.

"Not a chance." The Doctor stepped in front of him. "This ends right here, right now."

The Master just laughed, doubling over in a full-throated cackle. "You think by keeping me in this room, you can stop it? _Really?_ " He hooted, and mimed wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "It's too late for that. It's too late for _you_. The clock is ticking, Doctor...no more lovesick companions to save you. How _is_ Martha Jones? I'd rather hoped she'd still be travelling with you." One corner of his mouth curled up in a salacious leer.

The Doctor shoved his hands deep into his pockets, spreading his legs wider and assuming what he knew to be an imposing stance. "We're going back. I won't fight an imposter." Immediately the other man's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing to slits, as the Doctor stepped back around him, dismissing him. "Come on."

"I am _not_ an imposter. I am the Master and _you will face me_."

"Oh, give it a rest," the Doctor said, enjoying the returning feeling of empowerment as he continued to swagger away towards his TARDIS. "That mind-control nonsense didn't work even back when you were a real Time Lord."

"That's not what you said the first time," the voice purred from behind him, and the Doctor stopped in his tracks. "Do you remember?" he continued, the sound of his voice growing closer, telling the Doctor he was walking up behind him. Stalking him. "At the Academy, so many years ago, and we were...what, thirty? Forty? Just children, really. The red sunset shining in through the window, and you said you couldn't resist..."

"Shut up," the Doctor said, closing his eyes at the memory, at hearing these intimate details coming out of this creation's mouth.

"Or on the Valiant," the Master continued. "Would an imposter remember that?" The Doctor shivered, remembering how many times he'd been aged and then returned to his current physical age, or younger, over the course of that year. How eventually he'd stopped resisting and had asked, out of boredom or loneliness or just foolish gratitude at being in the company of another Time Lord, even this one, and how the man now standing behind him ( _not really him_ , he reminded himself) had answered with his mouth and hands and lean body. Shortly thereafter he'd aged him one hundred years again for the final time, then even further shortly before Martha's reappearance, and the Doctor had wondered if maybe he was trying to avoid further temptation.

"So you have his memories, so what?" The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could block out the memories and the fact of this man calling himself the Master all at once.

"And what is a Time Lord but the sum of his memories? Different bodies, different desires ... different kinks. Same man. You know that as well as anyone." His voice was almost a whisper now. "Look. At. Me."

The Doctor turned, determined to demonstrate that looking didn't mean anything, it certainly didn't mean he'd lost the upper hand. "You're coming with me to the TARDIS."

"Ooh, can we have the speech again first? The one about how you need someone to take care of?" The Master cackled. "I suppose I'm dressed the part now," he added, pulling on the red collar around his neck. "I'm all ready for you to _keep me_." The last two words dripped with filthy implications.

The Doctor advanced on him. "No. Any chance of that ended a long time ago. It ends for good this time."

The Master's eyes widened for a split second. "Could it be true? Is _the Doctor_ really standing before me and saying he'll kill me? The only other Time Lord in the universe?"

"Stop it."

"No, I want to see this. I want to see you act on those animal urges, _Doctor._ " Quick as a snake, the Master grabbed the Doctor's hand and held it up to his own neck, above where the collar rested. "Do it. Squeeze the life out of me. You're so good at killing Time Lords, but let's see if you can do it with your own hands."

The Doctor's hand clenched, anger coursing through his veins like fire. The pads of his fingers sank into the soft skin of the Master's throat on either side of his windpipe, pressing against the muscle and tendon that formed the cords of the other man's neck. He could do it. He could squeeze and break and tear and rip and take this abomination out of the world. His forearm trembled with the effort of restraining himself from doing exactly that.

Timelines and possibilities swam in his head, and when he finally let go, stumbling back, the Doctor gasped for air as if he had been the one being choked.

The Master smirked at him, even as the white marks on his neck started to turn red. "I'm shocked," he drawled, revealing himself to be anything but. "Although, fair play to you; I thought you might do it for a second there." The Master was advancing on him again. "I suppose I should thank you for sparing my life."

In the wake of his rage, the Doctor felt hollowed-out and hopeless. He'd lost control of this situation if he'd ever had it, which he was starting to doubt. Not for the first time in the last few weeks, he experienced exhaustion that ran bone-deep. He was too old and too tired for this.

"You the master and me the slave, that's what you've always wanted, isn't it?" the Master goaded, insinuating himself into the Doctor's personal space again. "Did you like it, holding my life in your hand like that? Did it make you hard?" His hand darted out and grasped the Doctor's cock through his trousers, stroking forcefully. It hadn't, as a matter of fact, but the rough touch of the other man, bringing back ancient memories of fumbling under Academy robes and stolen moments in abandoned corridors, was doing a better job of it than the Doctor liked to admit.

He swatted the hand away before his body could betray him. "It's always about sex for you," he growled, trying to sound more disgusted than he actually felt.

The Master rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh please. I'm not the one who travels through time collecting humans to shag. Well, not many, anyway."

"And Lucy?" the Doctor asked, experiencing a sort of guilty enjoyment at invoking the name of the only human he had an idea that the Master had ever cared about.

His smile was bitter. "A necessary aberration." He glanced downward briefly, and the Doctor wondered.

When he looked back up all the manic glee had left his face, and his expression was cold. "It has nothing to do with sex. It's _power_." He enunciated the word carefully, sliding his hands up the Doctor's arms, over his brown suit jacket. "The power I have over you. The power I've _always_ had over you. Last time you begged me to fuck you, this time you almost killed me because I told you to...what's next, I wonder? What else are you powerless to stop?" He leaned forward and dragged his nose up the side of the Doctor's throat, inhaling, then letting out his breath in a whisper: "You're going to die." The Doctor closed his eyes and shuddered at his words, at the breath tickling his skin – only barely warm, just like his.

"I don't..." He swallowed. "I don't want to die." His voice was tremulous, his hands coming up against his will to clutch at the Master's black hoodie.

"It's not so bad." The Master's voice was almost gentle, now, but his hands were not. The Doctor felt the other man's fingers fumbling with his trouser clasp and zip, and he wondered, as a detached observer might, how broken he actually was that he was allowing this to happen. By the time the Master took the Doctor's bare cock in his hand and stroked hard from tip to base, the Doctor could no longer deny his own arousal. Nonetheless, he bit back a groan and tried to push the Master away, even as he recognized that the attempt was half-hearted.

"Stop," the Doctor hissed. 

"You want to control me?" the Master asked, his face swimming in the Doctor's vision, his hand not slowing. "You want power over me? _Then take it._ "

There was a beat, a moment of stillness, when the Doctor could see the potential timelines unfurling in front of him like ribbons, all leading to a darkness that he couldn't focus on well enough to name. Then he surged forward, grabbing the Master and turning, slamming his chest up against the nearest wall.

Pressed against the length of his body like this, the Doctor could feel that he was maybe a little thinner than he remembered, but definitely the same man, just as he'd been back on the Valiant. There was one notable exception of course, and the Doctor inspected it up close for a moment before murmuring into the Master's ear. "The collar stays on."

"You're so predictable," he heard him answer, his voice slightly breathless now as the Doctor reached around to unbutton his black jeans. The loose garment slid easily over the other man's slim hips, pooling around his ankles. "You're probably just disappointed I'm not human," the Master continued as the Doctor kicked his heels apart, widening his stance as far as the trousers at his feet would allow and bending him slightly toward the wall. "How many times did sweet little Martha do this for you, or the other one – Rose?"

Hearing Rose's name from those lips dissolved the Doctor's last shred of self-control. He spat into his hand, rubbing saliva over his cock and lining himself up. With something like a snarl the Doctor pressed against the other man, pushing himself inside, hearing the Master's gasp of pain or pleasure or both and knowing he probably got as much enjoyment out of one as the other. The tightness around his penis was nearly too intense, and when he was fully buried he hesitated, breathing heavily against the Master's shoulder, waiting for the other man to grow used to the size of him.

"Second thoughts?" the Master ground out, somehow still sounding smug. The Doctor's only answer was to pull back and thrust forward again, faster. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out everything but the pure, physical sensation of sex. It was essentially what he'd been doing for weeks, running away from his destiny and toward any sublime or hedonistic pursuit he could sink his fingers into. He'd spent days in the bed of Queen Elizabeth, not that it had made him any less alone. This was just more of the same: postponing the inevitable, clinging to the last vestiges of life, no matter how perverse, rather than facing his doom.

"Have to admit ... thought you'd ... be rougher," the Master panted.

The Doctor grasped the red collar around the Master's neck, sliding his fingers underneath it and tugging just hard enough to hurt. "Don't talk."

He kept his thrusts slow and deep, pausing in between to make him wait for it, to feel the Master arch back against him. The Doctor left the fingers of one hand curled in the collar as he fucked him, the keening sounds the other man made with each stroke vibrating through the thick red leather. The Doctor himself stayed silent, his breath coming in heavy puffs, his gaze trained straight ahead at the sight of the Master's hands splayed against the wall, knuckles white, fingers scrabbling for purchase.

Feeling himself getting close, he contemplated reaching around to help drive his partner toward completion with his hand, then realized he didn't give a damn. Even fucking his worst enemy, he realized, it was still in his instinct to be attentive. The thought made him laugh, but the sound escaping his throat sounded closer to a sob.

"Are you _crying_?" the Master groaned. "Oh, that's _perfect_." His voice was thick with near-orgasmic bliss, as though the idea of the Doctor in pain was more euphoric than the act they were engaged in. The Doctor moved the hand not twisted in the collar to cover the Master's mouth, instead, and was rewarded with teeth, sinking into the flesh of his fingers, drawing them in to suck and to swirl around his skilled tongue. The pleasure-pain sensation made him groan, his hips speeding up, slamming harder into the other man as he took what he needed. His fingers gripping the collar clenched, pulling it tighter, pulling the Master's head back. He felt the scrape of stubble on his cheek as he moved to whisper in the other man's ear.

"This isn't power. You think you understand power so well, but you don't. You never have."

"Fuck off," the Master grated out, stroking his own cock now in a tight fist, his motion quick and efficient. He didn't seem interested in prolonging things, and for once the Doctor agreed.

It was the sight of the Master coming, spilling over his own hand as he cried out hoarsely, that pushed the Doctor over the edge. He kept silent, continuing to move through his climax, still holding onto the other man by the collar until he stilled.

Gasping for breath, the Doctor pulled out and backed up. He tucked himself away quickly, ashamed already of the fact that he had succumbed to such base instincts.

The Master bent over slowly and deliberately, pulling his jeans up over his thin hips, still facing the wall. The Doctor watched as the other man squared his shoulders, taking deep breaths, and he felt a wave of pity, in spite of his better judgement. Approaching the Master slowly, the Doctor laid a finger on the collar again: this symbol of oppression that some misguided fool had put on him, as if a symbol could take the place of true power over someone. He absently pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, pressing it against the collar and clicking it open. 

"I'm sorry."

The Master's shoulders started to shake, but the Doctor wasn't fooled that he was doing anything other than laughing. That was fine; he'd call him a sentimental fool, accuse him of all things he always did. Round and round and round they went, orbiting each other for hundreds of years and nothing ever changed.

The Master turned around finally, a wicked grin on his face. Lurid red marks ringed his neck. "Like I said, predictable." He bent over and picked up the collar, giving it a glance before he threw it at the Doctor, who snatched it out of the air. "You accuse _me_ of making everything about sex, but it makes you too addle-minded to recognise an electromagnetic conduit suppression device when you see one. Or to recognise that when those idiots resurrected me, they installed some new features. New and improved Time Lord, me."

"What are you talking about?" the Doctor asked, his heart already sinking – he'd been played.

The Master rubbed his hands together, and electricity crackled between them. The air smelled like an ion storm, and the hairs on the back of the Doctor's neck stood up. The grin on the Master's face was wide and insane, the light he held getting brighter and brighter. "Run."


End file.
